


too-red lips

by cantando_siempre



Series: in a moment of breathless delight [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bakery, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Artist Grantaire, Baker Enjolras, Café Musain, First Meetings, M/M, all characters except enjolras grantaire and cosette are only mentioned, combeferre/courfeyrac but only mentioned so it's not in the relationships, cosette is a supportive sibling, cosette pretends to be innocent but is scheming, enjolras is a mess with baking ingredients again, enjolras is so clueless, enjolras just wants to kiss grantaire so bad, enjolras spends way too much time staring at grantaire's lips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 06:06:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14302452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cantando_siempre/pseuds/cantando_siempre
Summary: “You said he was cute,” Enjolras hisses fiercely.“He is!” Cosette protests.“He’s hot, Cosette,” Enjolras moans.  “Hot and cute.  How can you be both at the same time?  That’s not fair.” he whines, grabbing Cosette’s hands.~He’s even hotter (cuter, whatever) up close.~Enjolras almost surges forward and kisses him right then.-or: enjolras meets a hot, cute stranger, grantaire has no idea what's going on, and cosette is the best little sister you could ask for.





	too-red lips

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone! i am back, as you can see! school's been kicking my butt lately, so i only just got a chance to write in the last few days.
> 
> this piece is a companion to my earlier fic 'cococa powder', where grantaire meets enjolras for the first time. too-red lips tells the story from enjolras's point of view, with some extra sibling bonding sprinkled in. however, this can be read as a stand-alone too!
> 
> a note! i made some edits to 'cocoa powder', so hop on over there if you've read cocoa powder and are confused with the events in this piece.
> 
> warnings - a few minor swears, (bs, a**, he**) and mention of homophobia from parents
> 
> as always, constructive criticism is the best, although that might also be comments and kudos lol. hope y'all enjoy some awkward dumb boys and one totally fab girl!

So far today, Enjolras has managed to not destroy the Café Musain’s kitchen.

Usually when he bakes the entire kitchen is covered in ingredients, with frosting streaked across the ceiling, an asthma-inducing carpet of flour, and one memorable time, chocolate chips _inside_ the coffee machine.  By some strange twist of fate, the kitchen has been almost spotless through Enjolras’s most recent 3 hour baking kick.

“Enjolras!” yells a voice from the Musain’s main room.

“Yeah?” he calls back.

“I found a cute guy for you!”

“Sure, Cosette.  You think he’s not a straight, Napoleon-loving, blushy philosophy major like last time?”

“Oh, no,” Cosette says decisively.  “This one’s not straight.  Just come see him already.”

Sighing as he wipes his hands on his apron, Enjolras maneuvers his way out of the maze of a kitchen to join Cosette at the Musain’s glass display window, peering out into the torrent of snow.  “Cosette, even you have to admit staring at a random stranger is pretty creepy –”

Enjolras stops talking.

Cosette’s man is _hot_.

Not literally, because judging by the way he’s shivering he’s probably freezing his ass off. 

_Oh, he’s got a great ass._

Enjolras swallows hard, tearing his eyes up to observe the back of the man’s head.  He appears to be examining Madame Baptistine’s antique store intently, for whatever odd reason.  When Cosette and Enjolras first opened the Café Musain after they moved to Paris, the two foster siblings had traipsed across the street to meet their neighbor. The minute they stepped foot in the doorway, Madame Baptistine had hobbled over and swatted at their ankles with her engraved walking stick until they had removed their shoes, and she then proceeded to drag them into the back room for some tea that tasted like dirt. 

The man looks down at his shoes, examining them before abruptly turning around and focusing his stare on the Musain.  Enjolras and Cosette both squeak, dropping to the ground and hiding behind a tower of croissants.  “You said he was _cute,_ ” Enjolras hisses fiercely.

“He is!” Cosette protests.

“He’s _hot,_ Cosette,” Enjolras moans.  “Hot _and_ cute.  How can you be both at the same time?  That’s not fair.” he whines, grabbing Cosette’s hands.

Cosette giggles at him.  “If he’s so cute – _hot,_ excuse me, why don’t you talk to him?”

“Cosette.  I don’t talk to hot people or cute people.  Have you _seen_ me trying to flirt?”

“Let’s see,” she muses.  “There was that one guy last year.  What was his name?  Feuilly?”

“Yep.”

“Didn’t you flirt with him?”

“Think really hard, Cosette.”

“Oh, I remember!  That’s the one you met, stuttered for five minutes flat about how amazing he was, and then made out with, right?”

“Right,” Enjolras deadpans.

“He’s still your friend, though!  I would say that went pretty well, wouldn’t you?”

“Cosette, I hid in my room for two weeks.”

“Same difference,” she dismisses, flapping her hands in the air before popping her head up to the edge of the window.  “Well, you’re gonna be stuck either way soon, because he’s headed over here!” she grins.

Enjolras will later claim that he stood up in a dignified manner and walked to the back room to finish mixing his cake.  Did he actually do that?

No.

Enjolras proceeds to crawl frantically along the floor.  He slides behind the counter, hunching over to scuttle along before he finally reaches the kitchen door and slips inside.  He can hear Cosette laughing at him as she stands up and follows him into the kitchen.

“Listen, big brother,” she sighs, peering down at him as he pulls himself up on one of the kitchen counters.  “I’ll give you about five minutes to make a move, with your countdown starting when I start talking to him.  If you don’t say anything, I’ll make you interact with him myself, and if you still don’t do anything, I’ll have to employ my own measures.  Understood?”

“Cosette, no,” Enjolras groans.

“Cosette, _yes,_ ” she chuckles.  “Better start thinking!” she chirps before strolling through the door and out behind the counter to prepare for Enjolras’s demise at the sound of the man ringing their customer bell.  Enjolras catches a glimpse of the man unwinding a thick scarf from around his dark, now bare neck and gulps. 

As Cosette starts chatting with the man, Enjolras goes back over to his cake in a futile attempt to distract himself.  Haphazardly measuring out cocoa powder for a chocolate buttercream frosting, he plunges the mixer into the mixing bowl, coughing as the cocoa poofs out into the air around him.  Enjolras sweeps the cocoa powder off the counter, ineffectively dusting his hands off on his apron as he tugs his hands through his hair and ties it back in a loose bun to get it off his flushed and burning neck. 

Gnawing on his lip, Enjolras continues with the cake recipe.  Dumping ingredients into different bowls, his mind wanders to the handsome stranger standing outside the kitchen door.  What in the world is Enjolras going to say when Cosette calls him out?  He knows she will; she never says anything she doesn’t mean, and when she wants something she’s going to get it.  Enjolras is right in the middle of composing a smooth way to introduce himself when Cosette hollers for him.  Mentally preparing himself, Enjolras peers out of the kitchen door.  “What, Cosette?” he answers, trying as hard as he can to sound busy and not at all like he’d been both dreading and anticipating this exact moment.

“Which one of your pastries should Grantaire try?”

 _Grantaire._ Enjolras savors the unfamiliar name, pausing before he realizes he actually has to interact.  Semi-reluctantly, he turns his attention to the stranger – _Grantaire._

He’s even hotter (cuter, whatever) up close.

He’s got a mass of dark curls that flop over his forehead, and they look so _soft._ His skin is a little pockmarked, but it’s still the rich color of cocoa powder.  His nose is somewhat squished, like he’s had it broken one too many times for his body to deal with, and his face is somehow round and defined at the same time.  His lips are a little too big and a little too red, and Enjolras can see how dry they are from here.  His eyes are a dark-ish color verging on navy blue, but the bakery’s dim lights glint off his eyes and bring out subtle hints of dark green and brown.  His features, when considered individually, would not be considered attractive.  Somehow, some way, they combine with the man’s elusive quirk of his lips and his slightly pointed ears to make Enjolras’s heart beat worryingly fast.

Feeling Cosette discreetly step on his foot, Enjolras remembers that he’s staring at Grantaire and that normal people don’t stare at other people, particularly not their lips.  “Give him the raspberry lemon petit four,” he forces out, seizing the opportunity to take in Grantaire one more time before stumbling backwards, fumbling for the kitchen door, and tripping through to promptly smash his calf into a discarded mixing bowl and let out a curse.

Digging his nails into his palms in frustration, Enjolras walks back over to the other side of the counter and drizzles his cake mix into three round cake tins.  Grantaire probably thinks he’s an idiot. What person can’t manage to talk around someone who may be slightly (ok, very) attractive?  People hold conversations with other attractive people all the time! 

As Enjolras slides the cake tins into the industrial-size oven, he hears a hacking sound coming from the main café, accompanied by Cosette cackling in glee.  Soon Cosette herself comes waltzing into the back room with an evil smile on her face.  “What did you do?” Enjolras asks, stomach sinking.

“Exactly what I promised.”

“What did you tell him?” he demands.

“Nothing but the truth.”

Running his hands through his hair, Enjolras groans. 

“Now, come out here and talk with me about your biological parents’ bullshit while you stare at your cutie,” she commands, clutching his wrist and tugging him out to lean on the counter.  Grantaire is bent over what appears to be a sketchbook, one of their signature pastry mugs resting, empty, at his elbow as he lifts his coffee cup to his chapped lips with his unoccupied hand. 

“So, what have they done now?” she pushes.

“They want me to come to some stupid party with all their rich, high-class friends so they can show off their baker son and pretend they’re supportive parents,” he summarizes.

“Have they said anything since you came out to them?”

“Nope, not a word.  I’m thinking they’re sticking their heads in the sand and are just going to ignore it and pretend it never happened.”

“And you’re just going to let them get away with it?”

“Of course not!” he denies indignantly.  “Originally I was thinking I could ask Courfeyrac to be my fake date for the party –”

“Enjolras.”  Cosette stares him down.

“Yes, Cosette, I know Combeferre and Courfeyrac are together and I can’t just steal Courfeyrac for the event to make out with in front of my homophobic parents.  I haven’t been arrested for months, I’ve gotten better.”  She snorts at him, knowing full well he scraped by getting arrested last week for punching a homophobe who was harassing two girls who were holding hands in the street.  “But, maybe I could just hire the two of them to kiss in front of everyone instead and somehow hint about it being magically related to me?” 

Cosette rolls her eyes so hard he’s afraid they’ll fall out of her head and walks away, darting her eyes toward Grantaire, who Enjolras sees is sauntering toward the counter.  Enjolras nervously crosses his arms, his leg jittering out a rhythm against the tiled floor. 

Grantaire’s face contorts faintly, like he’s deliberating something, and he rakes his front teeth across his bottom lip.  “Really, Apollo?” he challenges.

 _Apollo_?  Enjolras mouths, heat rushing to his face.  What the hell does calling him _Apollo_ mean?  What does _Grantaire_ mean?

“You really think that’s gonna work?  You think you’re just going to waltz in there with your pretty pastries and your pretty face and convince all the homophobic bigots it’s totally fine you like to make out with dudes?”

Once again, Enjolras’s nails are cutting into his palms.  Who _is_ this guy?  How is he absolutely gorgeous and yet so stupid?  He can’t be homophobic himself, because he seems disgusted at the mention of homophobia, so what the _hell_ does he mean?

“I mean, more power to you,” Grantaire adds.

“And what do you suggest,  _Grantaire_?” Enjolras questions, clenching his jaw.

“Objectively?  I suggest you take a chill pill and learn people aren’t always going to go along with you because of your sun-soaked radiance, Apollo.  Personally?”  Grantaire says innocently, leaning forward on his elbows and bringing his face _way_ too close to Enjolras for rational thought to be possible.  “Personally, I suggest we go out for coffee sometime.” he grins.

Enjolras cocks his head to the side, eyes drinking in Grantaire’s face, and absentmindedly bites his bottom lip.  Oddly, Grantaire’s gaze is inexplicably fixated somewhere around the bottom half of Enjolras’s face, and his pupils are slightly dilated.   Grantaire suddenly reaches out, trailing his calloused fingers across Enjolras’s cheek and tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear as a secret smile curls his red lips. 

Enjolras almost surges forward and kisses him right then.

Instead, he takes a deep internal breath.  _Be smooth, Enjolras,_ he thinks.

“I’d love to, truly,” he starts, mind racing, “but there’s one small issue.”

“And that is?” Grantaire says lowly.

“You came into my house-”

“Café,” Grantaire interjects, a tiny grin hiding in the corner of his mouth.

“-insulted my pastries, insulted my beliefs, made fun of my face, and then asked if I’ll go on a  _date_  with you?”

Grantaire makes unnervingly intense eye contact. “Yes?” he offers.

“Sorry, sweetheart.  Try again another time,” Enjolras smirks, personally astounded by himself as he rests his hands on his hips.  He can feel Cosette’s shocked and proud gaze boring into his back from where she’s watching creepily by the kitchen door.

Enjolras can practically see Grantaire’s mental jaw-drop.  Overwhelmed with a profound sense of satisfaction, Enjolras watches as Grantaire stumbles over to his table and collects his things, gaze pinned to Enjolras as Grantaire backs toward the door.  Enjolras senses Cosette making gestures behind his back, but refuses to take his eyes off Grantaire, who gropes for the door handle and disappears outside with his lips stretching into one last grin. 

Turning around, Enjolras watches Cosette’s face light up before she lunges forward and tackles him to the ground.  “Why didn’t you kiss him?” she cries.

“You told me not to!”

“I did not!  When you find someone that hot and they’re obviously interested in you, you _kiss_ them!  That’s how it works!”

Enjolras opens his mouth to defend himself before he processes the middle part of Cosette’s tirade.  “He’s interested in me?” he says incredulously.

Cosette smacks her hand to her forehead.  “ _Yes,_ ” she groans.  “Moving on…”

“Yes?”

“Who knew you were so _smooth_ , big brother?”

“Ugh, don’t,” he protests.  “I don’t even know what I was doing then.”

“Well, you and Grantaire were in the same boat then, because he looked like he was having an out-of-body experience,” Cosette affirms gleefully, climbing off him and dusting herself off.  “Speaking of bodies, you need to keep yours clean,” she says, holding out her hand to help him up.  “You’ve got baking ingredients all over you.”  Fishing out her phone from the pocket of her apron, she opens the camera app and hands it to him. 

“You let me flirt with a hot guy with _cocoa_ in my hair?” Enjolras wails.  “Maybe he didn’t notice?”

“Oh, believe me, he noticed.  He thought it was adorable.

“Correction: he thought _you_ were adorable.” Cosette snickers.


End file.
